


Euphoria

by ContrivedCircus



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: AU where Killua runs away but doesn't take the Hunter Exam, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, And instead- becomes addicted to drugs, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, HisoGon is single self-indulgent chapter not plot, KilluGon is self-indulgent scene not plot, Leorio is only mentioned, M/M, Not Beta Read, Prostitution, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-19
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-25 02:49:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,316
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14369280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ContrivedCircus/pseuds/ContrivedCircus
Summary: '“It’s thirty thousand jenny for sex. Another ten thousand to do it bareback.”Time warps around his body, changing, stopping. The numbers paint themselves upon his skin, counting down, up, over, under, where is he again? What day is it?'At twelve years old, Killua ran away from his family. He ran away from the lifestyle he didn't want. Instead of taking the Hunter Exam as he'd originally planned, Killua fell into the darkest hole he could find.Now seventeen, Killua regularly prostitutes himself for money to buy the drugs and alcohol he depends on. As his life spirals away from him, a stranger he's never met before reaches a hand for him.But what are Hisoka's true intentions?





	1. Chapter 1

Thin fingers grasp at a softness unknown to him.  
        _Pain, sound, movement, feeling._

He is above it all, soaring on the coattails of a long sought-after dream. This familiar feeling wraps him up warmly, heart racing, he runs towards the promises waiting for him. It’s warmer where the promises are; and the higher he flies, the closer he becomes.

“It’s thirty thousand jenny for sex. Another ten thousand to do it bareback.”

Time warps around his body, changing, stopping. The numbers paint themselves upon his skin, counting down, up, over, under, where is he again? What day is it?  
Time hurts him.

“That’s pretty cheap, but I guess I'm not exactly looking at high class tail here in the slums. I'll pay you after.”  
  
Within him, he has long sealed away anything negative. It is not pleasant to think of bad things, he’d much rather focus on the good.

But what is good here?

Killua flies higher to reach it.

If life is a game, he is playing tag. Except Killua has been ‘it’ for a long time.

“No, money up front.”

Is anyone even looking for him anymore…?  
  


* * *

 

“Fuck, you’re tight, aren’t you?” The voice belongs to the much older man atop him. The stranger’s wet lips spread wide into a disgusting smile which exposes rotted teeth. With each thrust, a bead of sweat drips onto Killua’s face, he can see a roach crawling on the ceiling.  
  
“Isn’t that what you like~?” The boy taunts back with a smile. Killua’s smiles are never genuine. This is a means to an end, he needs to fuck this man to get the money to buy warmth. To buy happiness. To buy comfort. To buy promises. To buy pills.

“A whore should know all about what I like, eh?” The man’s voice somehow drags him down. Each syllable to fall from his tongue threatens to drag Killua back into reality. To a world he was never truly part of.  
  
An assassin or this?  
  
The stranger re-angles his thrust, his cock finally earning a legitimate moan from the runaway Zoldyck. Pressing his elbows into the dirty mattress, Killua watches as he is thrusted into, watching the cock spreading him before sinking in deeper and deeper. At this point, he is finally enjoying this, enjoying his selected ~~life~~ existence.

This isn’t a life.

A hand roughly pushes him back down before grabbing his neck. Tighter and tighter the man grips him, until the air is split from his lungs and the boy’s hands pull at the stranger’s.  
He’ll pass out at this rate, he won’t get paid. Then what?  
  
“Fuck.” The man curses again, driving a hard thrust deep into Killua before finishing inside of him. The hand around his neck loosens, the runaway can’t help feeling disappointed.  
  
  
Afterwards, Killua plants himself on the edge of the bed to count his money. The stranger has long since left, leaving the runaway to his usual after-meeting activities.  
The dirty wood floor of the motel threatens to leave splinters in his bare feet, and judging by the roach infestation, Killua decides he may die of disease were that to happen.  
Lifting his feet from the floor, he crosses them on the bed, finishing his counting before mentally calculating how many pills he can buy if he also buys food.

From another room, Killua can hear someone crying.  
  
“Well…” The boy mumbles, a shiver racing down his naked back.  
  
From another room, there is shouting.  
  
“I can buy thirteen pills and a case of beer…” He mumbles again, ignoring the sounds around him. He should also buy more clothes soon, and maybe a hotel for at least one night. But lately, Killua has cared less about facing reality, and more about blocking it out.  
  
He’ll be ‘it’ forever.  
  
Lanky limbs shift to get dressed, his mind still mentally adding up his money and everything he can buy with it; up until he’s dressed again. His clothes are dirty, his shirt is torn near the hem, but you don’t have to be clean to meet with the right people.  
  
Letting himself out of the dingy motel room, Killua follows a twist of darkly lit and poorly managed hallways until the blinding shine of natural sunlight meets his eyes. Behind him, the door to the motel closes loudly, the bustling sidewalks of the living world threatening to thrust him back into reality.  
  
As the sun burns holes into his skin, Killua’s thin legs finally begin to move. After running away from home, he’d stopped working out. He’d stopped existing. At first, he was certain someone would come looking for him, and yet, nobody did.  
  
The heir to an infamous family of assassins, such a story seemed fake these days. On occasion, Killua found himself wondering if he’d made it all up. Between the drugs and the drinking, perhaps the memories fabricated themselves inside of his mind, spinning webs like venomous spiders, threatening the far reaches of his consciousness.  
Perhaps Killua belongs to nothing.

Working his way between the crowds, the runaway is set on the one part of town where his dealer tends to lurk. Right now, he needs to get his fix before he melts into the ground. Before the world catches fire. Before he combusts into flames alone.  
Around him some people make a point of avoiding him, others ignore his existence completely. At seventeen, Killua is a ghost, an annoyance, in the way, dirty.  
  
These days too, he’s a whore. 

The runaway keeps his hands dug deep into the pockets of his shorts. One hand clutches his money, rubbing it to quell the growing anxiety. His mind is racing with panicked thoughts of what he’ll do if his dealer isn’t there today. He gets a discounted rate through this guy for being a regular, if he has to go through someone else; he may not be able to buy as many. What will he do then? The only way he can sleep is by passing out drunk and high. Will he stay up all night? Wander the streets like a lost cat?  
  
He should really buy a burner phone so he can call this guy.  
  
“Wah! It says ‘ _do not cross_ ’, Leorio!” The excited voice of a boy behind him catches Killua off guard. Without thinking, he lowers his head.  
  
“Shush! Haven’t you ever heard of jaywalking? Besides, no ones even coming! We could’ve made it, Gon!” An older male loudly replies before huffing.  
  
Gon laughs.  
  
The crosswalk signal changes, Killua’s fingers rubbing more anxiously against the money in his pocket. As the crowd begins to walk, Killua finds himself side-by-side with the two, his empty blue eyes chancing a glance at the them.  
  
Just as quickly, he looks away before they can notice. They are different from him, special, or maybe everybody just seems special to him these days. Everybody shines brighter than him. Killua has no flame to ignite, no passion to explore, he is day-to-day, hour-to-hour, minute-to-minute.

Until he can get high again.

Killua makes an abrupt turn down an alleyway to get away from Gon and Leorio. He doesn’t want to be reminded of himself, he just needs to get to his favorite part of town. His dealer is like a finish line, freedom.  
  
Wandering down the darkened alleyway, Killua remains alert of his surroundings. He’d been jumped here before, had the shit kicked out of him by four older men. After taking him for everything he had, they left him motionless on the ground until the evening rain woke him back up. It’s not as though he could take them now, no, Killua is weaker now than then. Spider web memories claim he used to be strong. At twelve years old, he could take down multiple people in one go, he had been invincible.  
  
That life felt so far away. The runaway kicks an empty bottle lying in his path, watching it roll across the concrete before being slowed by a piece of trash.

Killua is ~~lost~~ here.

The vacant alleyway is lined by tall buildings, trash litters the ground here and there, cardboard boxes mark where some people routinely sleep. The runaway walks straight down the middle, his footsteps tapping quietly against the concrete, avoiding suspicious puddles.  
  
_Almost there,_  
                almost there,  
                                   almost there.

Killua watches his feet, counting his steps. In his peripheral, blurred walls and windows pass him by. The heavy focus on his steps has him mumbling the count aloud to himself.  
  
“Forty-one, forty-two, forty-three…” How many steps does it take to reach his dealer? If he keeps count, It may help distract him.  
  
Somewhere behind the walls surrounding him, Killua can faintly hear a group laughing. As he passes a dumpster overflowing with trash, he recalls the nights where he found himself digging for anything slightly edible. However, those days are gone. Killua’s body is his job, his currency, his product. He can afford to cling onto life for as long as he can roll onto his back.  
  
Somewhere deep down, he knows he was bred for more than this. Unused potential courses through his veins, begging for something more than what he is currently doing. He used to be strong, he could still be strong, he used to be a threat, he could still be a threat.  
  
“Pipe dreams.” Killua mumbles to himself as he side-steps a puddle. He thought that running away would mean freedom, that he could choose his own life, carve a place for himself in this world. The boy, who had been a mere twelve years old at the time, never saw this future for himself.  
  
As he exits the alleyway, Killua takes the concrete steps two at a time as he hops down them. The further down he goes, the closer he gets to his salvation. Even though it’s warm outside, Killua craves to have that warmth inside of him as well. Comfort.  
  
A few people pass as Killua steps back onto the sidewalk running alongside the main road. At this point, he’s certain he’s lost the strange boy and the older man. Seeing them somehow reminded him of who he could’ve been.  
  
Brushing the thought away, the runaway decides to retain focus on the task at hand. He would get the pills, buy some alcohol, and then go find a quiet spot in the woods to rest for the night. In his mind, it sounds reminiscent of a party. Or perhaps he’s just that excited to be high again.  
  
The rest of the walk is routine. Killua keeps his head down as he passes through crowds, keeping to himself as his feet carry him tirelessly. Even though his hips still ache from where the stranger had angled him oddly, he ignores the discomfort. His body is only useful for making money or getting high anyway.  
  
“Ey, Kil-lu-a!” A familiar voice from behind catches him off-guard. Lifting his head, Killua turns to see his dealer stalking from behind, a hood over his head but a large smile on his face. This guy never uses his own stash, he is clean and bright.  
  
“Oi, Isaac, I was just looking for you.” Killua offers his own smile, his hands leaving his pockets as his dealer approaches him. Isaac’s hair is brown, cut short and proper. His eyes don’t have the tired bags Killua’s do, his cheeks are plump rather than sunken. His eyes shine with life as he looks upon the thin, pale runaway. Coming to a stop when he’s only a couple feet away from Killua, Isaac makes vague gestures as he speaks.  
  
“I never see you on this side of town unless you’re here to see me. Let’s go hang out for a bit, I have a new cut.” Isaac raises his hand this time, motioning for Killua to follow him. When they first met, Killua would never follow him into dark places.

These days, Killua only knew of the dark places.  
  
“So what’s this new stuff?” The runaway asks, sinking down into a beanbag chair. His dealer had let him use his shower, the feel of his clean skin and hair rounding out this day to being nearly perfect.  
  
“A little something I picked up from a hunter friend. He wouldn’t tell me where it came from, just that it’s the best shit he’s ever had.” Reaching into a nearby drawer, Isaac extracts a baggy full of pills. Taking two out, he sets the baggy aside before grabbing a little mirror no larger than Killua’s hand.  
  
“Hunters use drugs now?” Killua asks as he watches Issac begin to cut the pills up with a razor blade.  
  
“Why do you ask? Do you wanna be a hunter?” His dealer snickers as he cuts the pills up finer, scraping the razor against the glass to keep it all together.  
  
“No, not really. I wouldn’t be very good at it.” Killua rubs the back of his hand, the only clear sign of his dishonesty.  
  
“Yeah, well, unless you can be a whore hunter, you probably shouldn’t change your line of work. You’re popular around here aren’t you? Natural talent I hear.” His dealer snickers again, tapping the razor against the glass before passing the mirror to Killua.  
  
“Here, try it. You can stay here tonight. I have beer in the fridge.”  
  
A warm place to sleep and he’d have his supplies? Today must be lucky.  
  
Taking the mirror, the cold glass bites at his thumb, the reflective surface forcing him to look at himself. Pale, with sunken eyes and dark circles. He looks tired, used up. Killua doesn’t want to look.  
  
“And the payment?” Killua questions. He didn’t want to give up some of his usual pills for this. This isn’t a guarantee.  
  
“It’s just a tester, so consider it free for my favorite customer. But if you’re feeling generous, I wouldn’t say no to one of your world-renowned blow jobs.” A smile curves Isaac’s lips, his eyes glimmering in what could be a joke or interest. Killua cannot decide.  
  
“Hmm, well you know my body is up for grabs. If that’s the only payment; then I have to question if this shit is any good.”  
  
Killua’s blunt response earns a loud laugh from Isaac. Reaching over, his dealer opens the nearby mini-fridge, pulling out two cans of beer before tossing one to Killua.  
  
“Well you’re test dummy number one, so I guess we’ll see.” Isaac pops the top on his beer as Killua nestles his between his legs. Looking back down at the mirror, he counts the neatly arranged lines.  
  
As Isaac begins to fiddle with the radio, Killua lifts the razor from the glass. Thinning out two of the lines, he adds the excess powder to the other two. It would be wasteful to do thick lines this early into the night.  
Rock music begins to play on a low volume, the runaways hand digging into his pocket before extracting a single bill. Setting the mirror down for just a moment, he begins to roll the money up. At this point, Killua is so close to salvation, he can feel his heart beginning to race, his palms sweating with anticipation. This stuff may suck, it may do nothing, but he’ll just ask for his usual if that happens. That plus the beer he’s being provided and the roof over his head, tonight will be good even if this shit sucks.  
  
Picking the mirror back up, Killua rests it on his lap, hunching over it as he presses the rolled bill to one nostril. To his right, he can feel Isaac’s eyes on him. Was he getting performance anxiety? Can that happen from snorting pills?  
  
The first hard inhale is tough. Killua doesn’t prefer to snort pills, but he has to basic manners to know it would be rude to refuse free drugs just because of it. Lifting his head, he continues pressing one of his nostrils closed as he snorts it harder down his throat. A shiver races down his spine.  
  
The second line is a bit easier than the first, though the boy can no longer feel his nose. Setting the mirror aside, he saves the thicker lines until later, right now, he would sink into this and focus on his beer.  
  
It only takes minutes for euphoria to flood Killua’s veins. Heart racing, he closes his eyes, sinking deeper into the beanbag chair. The music is alive around him, it’s happy, he feels happy. The runaway had not truly realized just how down he’d been prior to this. At last, he felt normal.  
  
“Anyway, do you want to do it too?” Isaac’s voice slides through the air, riding the euphoria with him before gently reaching his ears. Opening his eyes again, Killua glances his way.  
  
“Huh?” He questions. He’d clearly missed the first part of what Isaac had said.  
  
“I said tomorrow, my buddy’s gonna get his tattoo gun. Do y’wanna get a tattoo?” Isaac holds up his hand, making the motion of holding a pen while writing on his arm. Expectantly, he waits for Killua’s response.

However, the runaway averts his gaze, his eyes searching the ceiling for a moment. He felt as though he could overcome anything right now, life is too good to miss out on. Missing out on a tattoo would be a mistake too.  
  
“And ruin my pure skin?” He laughs, bringing the beer can to his lips before taking a sip.  
  
“Nothing about you is pure, Killua. C’mon, why don’t you get something done?” Isaac’s eyes remain focused on Killua persistent, expecting, but it didn’t matter. Usually, it would make Killua uncomfortable to be stared at. However, he trusts Isaac for some reason.  
  
“I guess that’s true... Hmm sure. How much does it cost?” Killua takes another sip of his beer, looking back to Isaac now.  
  
“Free right now. He just want to practice. You can’t be drunk when you go, and you have to eat. So we’ll drop by a diner in the morning.” Isaac turns the radio up a bit.  
  
“Huh… If I buy food then I have to take another customer tomorrow. An _extra_ one.” He complains. Maybe he should rent a hotel tomorrow evening and just take customers all night.  
  
“Is it that hard on your body to lay there and get fucked? C’mon, you’ll manage. I bet my buddy would pay you for a go anyway.” His dealer finishes the last of his beer, crushing the can between two hands before tossing it into a nearby trash bin. Isaac has always been a little nuts about keeping his place clean.  
  
“Weren’t you asking for a go at me earlier?” Killua laughs. It feels good to laugh again.  
  
“I wasn’t being serious, you know me, Killua. This is just how I’m paying my way through college. I don’t need any diseases.” Isaac meant his words as a joke, and Killua’s high doesn’t allow him to take it any other way. Respect is subjective, warped, what does it mean to respect a drug addict?  
  
“We’ll meet him in the afternoon. Take that bag of clothes over there too. I outgrew them, but they should fit you.” Isaac motions across the room to a black garbage bag sitting against the door frame. Killua’s eyes run over the lumps beneath the plastic before dragging over to Isaac.  
  
“Why are you being so nice to me?” He questions with suspicion. After living on the streets for so many years, Killua has learned when to question people and when to keep silent.  
  
“Because, those ratty clothes you have on now are going to cause you to lose some of your business. If you’re losing money; then I’m losing money. I have a tuition to pay, remember?” His dealer’s honesty satisfies Killua, who takes another sip of his beer.  
It would be nice if he could take more clients during the day, perhaps he’d be able to afford an apartment month-to-month. Having a consistent roof over his head sounded ideal, but Killua also considers the business aspect of it. He could bring clients home, he could charge more, he could begin accepting gifts. Over the years, Killua had turned down many offers for salvation, their salvation is not the same as his. Religion, recover, work, the runaway knew all of those things are frequent covers for sex trafficking. It would be too easy to fall into that by mistake.  
  
“Alright-alright. I appreciate it.”  
  
The rest of the night is spent grasping hard to that euphoric high. The mystery drugs had been stronger than what he usually takes, faster. Although, his heart felt ready to pop and his skin itched, Killua clung tightly to the happiness, the normalcy granted by the drugs. By the end of the night, a small pile of crushed beer cans sat at Killua’s feet. To his right, Isaac motioned to the trash pile before pointing to the trash bin. Killua should not leave a mess, not unless he wanted to replace the beer he’d drunk. After cleaning up the mess he’d created, Isaac dug out extra pillows and blankets, creating a small cot of the floor for Killua to sleep on.  
  
The runaway does not know if Isaac is this friendly with each of his customers, or if he’s an exception. However, it doesn’t matter. Tomorrow, he’ll replenish his stash, he’ll have new clothes, he’ll be fed, he’ll get a tattoo.  
Tomorrow, will be another warm day.  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this early to give myself more time to write an unrelated one-shot.

The following morning, Killua is shaken awake by Isaac. Groggy, his feet reluctantly drag him between the bathroom where he washes up, to the bedroom where he changes into some of the clothes Isaac packed up for him in the black trash bag. Just as his dealer had said, the clothes fit him pretty well. He looked more normal, respectable.  
As Isaac rounds up his things, Killua slips his shoes on, his thoughts occupied by the desire for beer even as Isaac meets him by the front door. Do diners serve alcohol?  
  
The journey from Isaac’s apartment, to the outside, felt longer than usual. The hallway stretched on endlessly, Killua’s eyes counting the ceiling tiles above with each step they take. Three tiles across, sixty long. He could outstretch both arms without touching a wall, not that he’d want to touch the walls. Dim lights illuminate the dirty carpet, the silence between them stretching on-and-on until they finally make it outside again. The sun is still the enemy, still burning his pale skin.  
  
“We’ll go eat first, I’m in the mood for some pancakes. What about you?” Isaac’s hands are hanging at his sides, confidence overflowing with each step he takes. This must be similar to what it feels like having actual friends.  
  
“That sounds good to me.” Killua’s reply comes out naturally enough. Around them, birds chirp in response to the daylight.  
  
Quietly, the two walk down the sidewalk. Given the somewhat early hour, not many people are out, allowing them nearly free reign. Sticking side-by-side, the runaway allows a smile to creep over his lips.  
  
“So what kind of tattoo are you gonna get?” Killua asks first. He hadn’t asked yet if Isaac would also be permanently marking his skin, somehow, Isaac seemed above that.  
  
“I haven’t decided yet. Say, I told him you’d be down for some work. He seemed pretty excited, he has a few friends that wanna join in. Is that cool with you?” Isaac’s change of topic draws Killua’s eyes towards him, though the runaway quickly looks up to the blue sky instead. Between the looming skyscrapers; he can spot puffy clouds against the deep blue. Everything is fine on a day like today.  
  
“Sure, as long as they pay me. But if it’s a group then they need to all bring condoms. I don’t front that sorta stuff.” Killua lowers his gaze again as they approach a corner, their pace ceasing as they wait for the signal to change. Idly, Killua presses the metal crosswalk button.  
  
“I’ll let ‘em know. I don’t know his friends though, so be careful.” His dealers warning confuses the teen a bit. Isaac has always been different from the other people Killua’s associated with. A warning meant Killua has once again begun to toe questionable lines.  
  
“I’ll keep that in mind.”  
  
A bird recording chirps as the crosswalk signal changes, Killua’s eyes drawn down to the white lines as they cross the street. People no longer stare at him, he is showered, dressed in clean clothes, he’s slept comfortably.  
  
“I want to find an apartment; do you have any leads?” The runaway asks as he steps up onto the sidewalk once more. The two continue down the street, ignoring the various businessmen and children who pass by. Somehow, it appears they exist in a bubble, a different world.  
  
“I’ll keep an eye out. Where have you been crashing?” Isaac stops in front of a small dinner facing the road, pulling on the metal door handle before ushering Killua inside.  
  
“Eh, parks usually.” Killua steps inside, his eyes sweeping over the small establishment. Booths line the walls, only a couple of them occupied. Pointing out an empty booth near the window, Isaac leads the way.  
  
“And you only just now started thinking about getting an apartment?” Issac exhales loudly, sliding into the booth before motioning to the waitress.  
  
The two make their drink orders, coffee and a glass of water, before being left alone to deliberate on the food they wanted. Nearby, a man sits alone at a table. Sipping a cup of coffee; the stranger taps a playing card against the tabletop. Something about him feels different from Killua, he avoids looking at him.  
  
“Yeah, I mean, I wasn’t sure how to pay for it before but… Now I know how much I can charge for my work. I should be able to afford something cheap. I just need a roof and four walls.” Killua leans back in the booth, his thumb fiddling with the corner of the menu. His stomach grumbles, but his mind wanders back to the pills.  
  
“That should’ve been your first priority. Well whatever, I’ll keep an eye out. Save up as much money as you can in the meantime, they’ll want first month’s rent up front.” Isaac takes a sip of his coffee, pushing the menu aside with his order in mind.  
  
“Yeah-yeah…” Killua picks up his menu at last, the void of his stomach clawing up his throat as his eyes sweep over decadent photographs of various breakfast items. Waffles sound good.  
  
“Say, you’ve never told me anything about yourself. Are you from here or what? Don’t you have family? Why were you crashing in parks?” Isaac’s unusually probing questions causes the runaway to pause. Taking a sip of his coffee, he doesn’t respond immediately, instead, he continues to examine the menu.  
  
“Waffles sound good.” He mumbles to himself before setting the menu down again.  
  
“You don’t have to tell me, I’m just curious.” Isaac’s coffee is nearly gone now, his brown eyes sliding away from Killua and to the various photographs framed on the walls.  
  
“It’s been so long, I don’t know what I know about my family. Y’know?” Killua crosses his legs under the table.  
  
“Well, what’s your full name? Or don’t tell me, you’re some political expat? Witness protection maybe? Or, lengthy criminal record you’re running from?” Isaac laughs at his own poor joke.  
  
“Zoldyck.” Killua sighs. Assuming the drugs fabricated the spider web memories, divulging his last name shouldn’t mean anything. Though, he wasn’t sure about any of the other stuff.  
  
“Huh? You’re foreign?” Isaac exhales again, his gesture blinding Killua from the way the nearby stranger suddenly begins to focus on their conversation.  
  
“Yeah, I’m not from here. I have a visa though, I’m not illegal.” Killua digs his hand into his pocket, pulling out his wallet before handing over his visa card. Isaac’s eyes sweep over the plastic, reading the information on it.  
  
“Huh, Killua Zoldyck, you really are foreign. Huh, and you’re only seventeen?!” Isaac looks up at Killua again, holding his visa out for him.  
  
Putting his visa card back into his wallet, Killua puts his wallet away before taking another sip of his coffee with a slight nod.  
  
“It doesn’t matter does it?” Killua snaps in a hushed breath. From the corner of his eye, he can see their waitress approaching.  
  
After making their orders, the two sit quietly. Isaac appears to soak in the information he’s just learned about Killua, Killua sips down his newly refilled coffee. It felt weird to say his last name aloud, as though it didn’t really belong to him. The only way Killua knew it was real, was his visa card.  
  
The approach of their food is the first thing to really get the two moving again. A stack of waffles smothered in whipped cream, syrup, and topped with strawberries; smiles up at Killua. The smell breathes into him a similar happiness to what the pills provide.  
  
“I want to buy twenty-five before you leave tonight. Do you have that with you?” Killua shoves a hunk of waffle into his mouth, watching Isaac before looking back down at his plate. It’s rude to watch other people eat.  
  
“Yeah.” Isaac begins as he finishes chewing. “I figured, I brought your usual with me. We can get to that after the tattoos. I wanted to make sure you wouldn’t be high during them.” Isaac cuts a piece of sausage away, putting it in his mouth.  
  
“I told you I wouldn’t. But how much for the other stuff? I might want a couple of those for fun.” The runaway takes a sip of his coffee, the red-haired stranger nearby is no longer tapping the card.  
  
Instead, he’s smiling.

“I’ll cut you a discount. They’re twenty-five hundred jenny usually, but I’ll give them to you for fifteen hundred.” Setting his utensil down, Isaac clears his throat.  
  
“I’m glad I was saving up.” Killua smiles.  
  
After finishing up their breakfast, the two pay their tab before heading out again. The sun makes itself known more strongly than before, the sidewalks are fuller. Wrapped up in idle conversation, the two walk several blocks without paying much mind to the uncomfortable weather conditions. A little bit of heat is better than a lot of snow. A lot of snow is when Killua has to work harder and spend more nights in questionable hotels. Killua doesn’t say anything more about his family; and Isaac doesn’t pressure him to. Instead, Isaac tells Killua about school, about his major, about his family. The conversation is superficial, lacking deep details, personal feelings, or the burdens of reality. This is truly normal, but Killua’s mouth still waters for a chemical comfort.  
  
“Say, you’re not old enough to drink, how are you buying alcohol?” Isaac finally asks as the two wait at the crosswalk.  
Killua thumbs the crosswalk button, rubbing the smooth metal, pushing it a few times more than is necessary.  
  
“You’re wondering how I get my hands on something sold in gas stations when you offer something unavailable in most places?” Killua presses the button again.  
  
“Just curious, but whatever you don’t have to tell me. Anyway, what tattoo are you getting? My buddy is a great artist, he can draw whatever you want.” Isaac slips his hands into his pocket, a few more people walk up behind them. Killua cannot help becoming more alert as the crowd thickens.  
  
“I’m not sure yet, I’ll know when we get there.” The signal changes, Killua presses the button again before beginning to walk.  
  
The walk is long, hot, but a breeze airs out their warmed bodies from time to time. Clothes rustling, they turn the corner towards a hotel nearby. Rather than the sleazy motels Killua has grown accustomed to, this is a real hotel, a decent hotel. As they approach, Isaac digs his cell phone out of his pocket, making a call to let someone know that they’re almost there. The further they go, the more Killua begins to feel as though they’re being followed.  
  
Furrowing his eyebrows, he follows Isaac into the building. The rush of air conditioning greeting his skin as he fights the urge to glance over his shoulder. Instead, he examines his surroundings. It’s no five-star hotel, but there aren’t roaches crawling on the ceilings or trash overflowing from the bins. It smells clean.  
  
“My buddy is waiting, come on.”  
  
Isaac guides Killua past the front desk and to the elevators. They rise, one floor, two floors, three floors, the elevator stops on the fifteenth floor. The doors spread before them, giving way to another long hallway. Isaac reads the gold-plated sign before them. Rooms 1500-1530 to the left. Rooms 1531-1560 to the right. They make a right.  
  
“What does your buddy do?” Killua asks the forbidden question, his lips pressing together afterwards as he awaits a response, but none is given. It’s generally not a good idea to ask what occupation people are in, if you don’t know, you don’t need to know.  
  
The walk feels strange after that. The carpet beneath their feet barely makes a sound as they venture past closed, white doors. Various oil paintings of landscapes framed in thick, gold frames pass by as they stop near the end of the hallway. Without hesitating, Isaac knocks in a particular pattern on the door, waiting a mere five seconds before knocking in a different pattern.  
  
The door opens only then.  
  
A man taller than both Isaac and himself stands in the doorway. His skin is tan, clean shaven, but his eyes are hard and threatening. Killua can see tattoo’s peaking out from beneath his pink dress shirt collar.  
  
“Yo, it’s been awhile.” The man greets Isaac, holding up his hand. The two shake hands before Isaac motions to Killua.  
  
“Kael, this is Killua, the kid I was telling you about.” Isaac bares a smile as he introduces Killua. However, the man doesn’t look upon the runaway with the same calm indifference that Isaac has. Instead, the stranger’s gaze rakes over Killua’s body, as if taking stock of the merchandise. His presence is heavy and impossible to ignore, Killua’s training surges adrenaline through his veins, though he currently stands no chance of even escaping. Between his large build, and the familiar aura, Killua can immediately judge the danger presented to him.  
  
“Killua, this is Kael.” Isaac begins to introduce them, though he’s quickly cut-off.  
  
“Kid? I ain’t interested in children.” Looking to Killua again, his gruff tone directs itself at him. “How old are you?”  
  
It takes Killua a moment to speak, though he manages to gather himself after a moment. “Seventeen.” He answers as confidently as possible. Perhaps showing Isaac his visa had been a mistake.  
  
Seconds pass in silence, Kael’s eyes laying heavy on Killua. The weight of his gaze makes Killua want to squirm, anything to comfort himself, but he manages to refrain.  
  
“Seventeen ain’t a kid. Come on in.” Stepping aside, Kael holds the door open wider to allow the two entry. As Isaac and Killua step inside Kael calls out to two others seated in chairs around a small table.  
  
“Isaac and the whore are here.” Kael’s words draw the attention of two strangers, their eyes immediately plastered to Killua’s body as the hotel door is closed and locked behind them.  
  
There’s a single queen-sized bed to the left, a mess of tools and unopened inks resting atop a towel, presumably to protect the white duvet. To their left, the TV plays a film on low-volume, one nobody is paying any mind to.  
Instead, the focus is on the lines being cut out on the table by the two men. As Kael approaches them, he motions to Killua.  
  
“I’m gonna tattoo these two and then the whore is all ours. Or…” Looking back to Isaac, Kael speaks again. “I can tattoo you first while Orson and Arden get a trial run with him.”  
  
The teen throws a glance to Isaac. It’s not as though Isaac is his manager, Killua doesn’t need his permission to work. However, it seemed more like Kael was judging Isaac’s comfort with the idea.  
  
“I don’t care either way, man. It’s up to Killu.” Isaac passively waves off the question, taking a seat on the bed before pulling out a baggie full of pills. Killua’s mouth waters, his eyes glued to the bag with such focus, he nearly forgets about Kael and the other two.  
  
“What are your prices?” Kael asks, his heavy gaze focused once more on Killua’s thin body.  
  
“Thirty thousand each, an extra three thousand for other services. My mouth or hands.” Killua is not shy about what he does. Although, he’s never worked in the presence of Isaac, his mind is dominated by the desire to get his hands on the pills. The more money he makes tonight, the more pills he can buy. He may even have enough for a deposit on an apartment and a much-needed cell phone.  
  
“Done. You’ll stay here until we’re done with you then.” Kael reaches down, picking up some of the tools from the bed before beginning to set up.  
  
“I don’t work for longer than four hours. It’s an extra ten thousand for every hour after that.” Killua quickly adds in. The very idea of being mauled by three men for more than four hours is dizzying. Would he even be able to walk?  
  
“Afraid your body will break?” Kael laughs. Off to the side, Killua can hear the two men, Orson and Arden, snickering. He is used to being mocked, even among this type of crowd, prostitutes are lesser humans.  
  
“Yeah.” Killua crosses his arms, trying hard to hold tight to his confidence. When dealing with people like Kael, it’s important he stands his ground. It’s important he doesn’t allow them to control him. And yet…  
  
Killua feels like he’s losing control.

“Don’t worry, we’re going to buy your pills for tonight. You’ll be too drugged up to care. And if we like you enough, we might become regular customers. Even whores need regulars, right?” Kael laughs again, Killua feels as though he’s being pulled into the ground, but he holds his head up high as a smirk creeps across his lips. To his left, Isaac says nothing.

“Don’t hit me, use condoms, and don’t leave scars. Those are my requirements…” Killua can feel the tension rising in the room, Isaac shifts as Kael and Killua stare hard at each other. The room is silent enough to hear the movie now, strangers in another room laugh.

It’s as if he is holding his breath, Killua’s heart pounds hard against his ribs until Kael’s gaze finally departs from his. Exhaling smoothly, the runaway uncrosses his arms.  
  
“Don’t worry, none of us are interested in catching anything you’ve got. Arden, why don’t you have the test drive and let me know if this mouthy whore is even worth it.”  
  
One of the men from the table stands, his hands moving to his belt as Kael directs Isaac to sit for his tattoo. As Kael and Isaac engage in quiet conversation, Arden begins to motion for Killua to get on the bed.  
  
Arden appears older than Kael, mid-thirties perhaps. Tall, muscular, and with strange tattoos winding up his arms which disappear inside of his shirt. The closer he gets, the more distinctly Killua can smell gunpowder.  
  
The runaway takes a seat on the bed, a playful smile taunting his lips as Arden’s presses one knee against the mattress between Killua’s legs. Arden’s gaze is clouded by lust, one of his hands touching Killua’s shoulder before winding down his chest. The curious touches stop after a few seconds, the older man’s hands returning to his belt as he finishes pulling it off.  
  
“Take my pants off.” He tells Killua. The runaway knows it’s an order, though it’s an order spoken more softly than usual. He is used to having rough clients. To limping through the park, to hiding disgusting bruises. Killua has never before told a client specifically not to hit him, as the smooth leather slides through his hands, the runaway endures the hurricane inside of his mind.  
  
Had that request backfired, he may have ended up with a few broken limbs before becoming their sex toy for however many hours they wanted to keep him for. Killua had heard so many horror stories from other sex workers, he really knew better than to make odd demands like that. What had gotten into him?  
  
Killua slides Arden’s belt off, setting it off to the side before beginning to unbutton his jeans. Arden stops him before he can drag the zipper down.  
  
“Use your mouth, like they do in the pornos.”  
  
The runaway complies, his gaze fixated on the man standing before him. He can feel the weight of Arden’s fingers brushing through his hair, he can hear the tattoo gun buzzing loudly to his left.  
  
Perhaps, Killua had been afraid of these men. Afraid that if he didn’t establish himself as more than worthless trash, they would kill him.  
  
“That was really sexy, open your mouth for me.” Arden’s palm winds softly down the side of Killua’s face, his thumb rubbing over boy’s lips until the runaway opens his mouth for him. Hooking his thumb on the boy’s cheek, Arden examines his mouth for a moment.  
  
Checking for STD’s…  
  
“Use your mouth.” Arden begins, his hand moving to cup the base of Killua’s head. From the corner of his eye, Killua can see both Isaac and Orson watching him, Kael is bent over Isaac’s arm with the tattoo gun and a wad of blood and ink stained paper towels.  
  
Reaching forward, the boy’s hands grip the waistband of Arden’s jeans, pulling them down along with his boxers. A tan line separates the darkened skin of a laborer from the pale skin of an office worker. Killua’s eyes sweep over the task exposed to him.  
  
Leaning forward, Killua’s lips press against the warm tip, his tongue sneaking out to slide along the underside of the head. His tongue isn’t very long, but he knows how to use it. Running it flat along the head, he draws his lips back enough to open his mouth further, taking the tip into his mouth while still using his tongue to gently massage. Arden’s cock is still flaccid, but average in size, surprising given his muscular build.

As Killua’s lips and tongue work around the engorged length, the man’s fingers begin to wind into his hair. With a tightening grip on the runaway’s hair, Arden moans quietly. Killua has given more blow jobs than he can count, he’s slow, careful, utilizing his tongue and the vibrations of his voice. Everybody is different, every cock is different, Killua takes this time to learn which ways Arden likes having his dick sucked.  
  
“Don’t fuck him.” Kael warns. The runaway can barely see Kael from his peripheral, but he can still see Isaac watching him idly.  
  
Taking the full length of Arden’s dick into his mouth, Killua sucks and massages around it, feeling it slowly beginning to harden inside of his mouth. The way Arden’s fingers occasionally tighten in Killua’s hair tells him if he’s doing a good job. It will be easier when Arden is hard, but the fact that he is even getting hard is a good sign.  
  
“D’you have first dibs?” Arden questions, his gaze averting from Killua’s occupied mouth to the man still focused on his tattooing. The smile tugging at Arden's lips is a breath away from a challenge, though the man still bares the aura of someone with their tail between their legs. Kael is still in control.  
  
“I don’t want to put my dick in him after you. Make a new hole if you can’t wait.” Kael laughs, his gaze raising to look at Killua for a moment before he looks back down at Isaac’s arm. The teen doesn't wonder about the look Kael gives him, the one with eyes which merely glaze over his being without seeing him as an individual.   
  
Though, surely Kael did not actually mean for Arden to create a new hole. Surely, it’s just a joke, Killua tells himself as much.

A few hours pass without any extraordinary events, Killua’s mouth coated in cum, his hair a mess from the hands which have searched through it. Both Arden and Orson had taken turns with him, exhausting themselves before sitting down to continue preparing the drugs. Killua lays back on the bed, wiping the saliva and dried cum from around his lips as he stares up at the ceiling. He can’t help thinking about his family, even if his family is nothing more than a contrived fantasy spun through excessive drug use.

Killua just needs to comfort himself somehow until he can get high.

“Kay, kid. It’s your turn.” Kael nods to Killua who slowly begins to sit up on the bed. He is nervous, and perhaps it shows, though he does his best to swallow the knotted anxiety in his throat. Isaac rises from the chair, saran wrap covering the fresh tattoo on his arm. The runaway can’t make out what it is from his position.  
  
“Shouldn’t you use a new needle?” Isaac idly questions as he begins taking short steps away from the table. Killua stands now, his heart pounding as his anxiety about this new and very permanent thing he’s about to do begins to become that much more real.  
  
But, it doesn’t matter, does it?  
  
“I’m not about to waste new needles on some prostitute drug addict who's gonna die in some ditch eventually.” Kael makes another motion for Killua to sit down where Isaac had been sitting, the runaway’s mind feels slower. He needs to get high. This is the last step before he can get high, after this, Isaac will sell him the pills, he’ll get alcohol, he’ll be normal again.  
  
Taking a seat, Killua pulls up the sleeve of his hoodie, exposing the inside of his forearm arm. The skin is smooth and pale, odd scars marring his skin here and there. Some he knows to be the product of his assassin training as a child, but others are the result of being jumped or abused by clients.  
  
Killua’s body is covered in scars.

“What sorta tattoo do you want?” Kael asks, tearing off a few sheets of clean paper towels.  
  
The runaway pauses, thinking of all the things he could have permanently set into his skin. The needles will dive in, seat the ink before moving on. He’ll endure the pain for something, something that should be important, memorable, something he won’t regret.  
  
All Killua does these days is regret.

“Can you write four o’clock?”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't like posting on a schedule. I'm gonna update this whenever I have a chapter ready. Maybe two chapters a week, maybe one. It'll depend on work. I hope everyone is enjoying this though!

The buzzing of the tattoo needle interrupts the silence in the room. However, it only carries on for a few more minutes before ceasing. Kael brushes the paper towel over Killua’s swollen, sore arm, removing the excess ink and blood.   
  
His tattoo had taken less time than Isaac’s, though he never explained what it meant to any of them. That secret will be carried with Killua for forever, the foundation of his regret, of his life, or his undoing.  
  
Four o’clock is his euphoria.  
  
The words are not written in any particular style, instead, they are a brand implanted via ink into his pale skin. Killua’s veins run blue, winding just below the text. His eyes have trouble looking away, he’s distracted by the reality of what he’s permanently placed on his skin.   
  
His mouth waters.   
  
“Yo, Isaac, can I get those pills now?” Killua finally looks away from the tattoo, his head tilting back as his gaze finds his dealer half-way across the room. The three men are chatting and drinking, their conversation temporarily disrupted as Isaac looks up to respond.   
  
“Yeah, man.” Isaac rises, digging the baggy of pills from his pocket before speaking again. “Kael, you said you were picking up the tab right?”   
  
Kael, who is applying saran wrap to Killua’s tattoo, doesn’t bother glancing up. “Yeah, toss em.”   
  
The baggy flies across the room, arching smoothly before being captured by Killua. Like a starving animal, he peels open the zip lock with his teeth and fingers, setting the baggy in his lap before taking out two pills and swallowing them dry. The simple action breathes relief through his body. The pills haven’t yet taken effect and he already begins to feel better. Normal.   
  
“There, make sure you’re washin’ it every day, kid. Don’t want your skin to rot and fall off.” Kael leans away from Killua now, reaching into his pocket before rising.   
  
As he crosses the room, he takes his wallet out, extending the cash to cover the drugs to Isaac, who smiles before accepting the money. Left alone at the table, Killua slouches down a bit, allowing himself to relax as he waits for the warmth to fill him. It is almost forgotten that he’s expected to present his body to these three men. It doesn’t matter. If he's high, drunk, he can do it.   
  
“The kid’s a huge drinker. You may want a case or two more.” Isaac nods to the single empty box beside the mini-fridge.   
  
Kael laughs at the comment, nudging Arden who’s seated on the corner of the bed. “He should’ve brought some then. He’s here to provide a service to _us_. Not the other way around.”  
  
“I hear he’s a better fuck when he’s drunk. That’s all.” Isaac recovers from his comment with this simple line, though it’s weak and thin at best. Killua’s eyes fixate upon the college student, the warmth beginning to spread through him as he focuses harder on Isaac.   
  
Is Isaac… afraid of these guys?   
  
“It doesn’t matter. He’s just a hole. Speaking of…” Kael turns his head, nodding to Killua who is between euphoria and reality.   
  
“Strip, kid. I’m not wasting time on you like you’re some woman.”   
  
The runaway raises his gaze to Kael instead, from behind him, both Arden and Orson stare with the same insatiable lust. The drugs are helping.   
  
“Sure~.” He grins.   
  
The room is awash with the dull yellow of the bedside lamps. The air hangs thick with the smell of cum and sweat. On the wall, Killua can see flashes of light from the TV still playing with a muted volume, nobody is focused on the TV.  
Instead, the three others in the room are focused solely on Killua. His body is up for grabs, it is an object of pleasure, of currency. His body is not his own, it belongs to his family, to them, to anybody willing to front the thousands it costs to experience him temporarily.  
Killua’s hands are secured above his head, tied by a tightly wound belt to the wooden headboard before him as his ass is propped up high in the air. Facing the pillows below, Killua pays little mind to the uncomfortable way he has been propped onto his knees for what feels like hours. The leather belt digs painful into his wrist. However, it’s the way he is unable to press his elbows into the bed or the pillows that makes it the most painful. Instead, his weight is balanced between his knees and where the belt holds his wrists.  
  
“Ahn!” His voice slips out again as Kael thrusts harder. The older man’s hands hold tightly to Killua’s hips, his teeth grit as Arden and Orson watch. Balling his hands into fists, Killua braces against the belt restraint before feeling Kael’s hand forcing one of his legs further apart. Focusing on his own exasperated breaths, the runaway licks his lips.  
  
“Does it feel good?” Kael asks before giving a short, patronizing laugh. “My dick is better than any drug.”   
  
Isaac has long since left the hotel. Without any interest in fucking Killua, he had likely returned home; presumably to study. Killua has learned some things here or there about Isaac, not that any of it really matters. Nothing matters so long as Isaac keeps giving him what he wants.   
  
_~~Happiness~~ _ Drugs.  
  
“Ah, it feels so good.” Killua moans. The sound of skin-against-skin grows louder, Kael’s thrusts increasing in speed. His cock is large enough to satisfy the runaway, filling his sore hole, assaulting his prostate. The sensation is nearly overwhelming to the boy; though he’s happy for it. Prostitution hasn’t always been simple for him, or easy. Killua struggled the first few times. Struggled to enjoy it. Struggled not to hate himself. Struggled to look in the mirror.   
  
_Dirty, shameful, rotten, vile._  
  
Killua closes his eyes.  
  
“More…” He finds himself saying. More cock? More drugs? More alcohol? What does he want?   
  
“Ah shit, this kid is the best.” Arden stands beside the bed, naked and stroking himself. His eyes slowly drag over Killua’s bent and restrained body. He is not looking at a person.  
  
The bed creaks louder.   
  
“Say you love our dicks because you’re a filthy whore.” Kael grins, though his own titillated breathing is uneven. Killua’s body is undeniably attractive. Despite the thinness brought on by poverty, the runaway is attractive with smooth skin and balanced features. His body painted with perfection.   
  
“I love your cocks~.” Killua moans. His voice is now a strained pant, his own dick rubbing against the soiled duvet as Kael continues his relentlessly rough thrusts.  
“Because I’m a filthy whore.” The last part comes out choppy, broken up by his breathing as he squeezes his eyes more tightly closed. It’s difficult not to feel dirty each time he cums. What is supposed to be a pleasurable sensation, is laced with the guilt of his actions. However, the runaway needs money, drugs, alcohol. His body can attain all of these things, sex can attain all of these things.  
  
As Killua attempts to prolong his second orgasm; Kael’s hands tighten on his hips. The runaway moans louder, his fingernails digging into his palms as the pleasure begins to overwhelm him. Between being high and being fucked, the boy cannot decide which physically feels better. Perhaps it’s best to always be high while being fucked.  
  
Kael’s firm grip on Killua’s hips begins to loosen, one hand now sliding up Killua’s slide, rounding his ribs and over his shoulder blade. The touch feels hot, threatening, but Killua will do anything to be fucked harder.   
  
_‘Please, make it hurt.’  
_

“You should be our private whore. We’ll buy your drugs, your liquor, so spread your legs for us whenever we tell you to.” The suggestion is followed by Kael’s hand wrapping around the back of Killua’s neck. The action is meant to be a threat, but the thrill racing through Killua’s body doesn’t allow him to process the situation in-full.   
  
“Haah… I.. ah… I need to be paid so I can buy an apartment…” A moan interrupts his response, a shudder racing down his spine as he finally cums for the second time against the white duvet. He had held back for so long that the orgasm feels more draining than usual, however, the pleasure still coats his body whether he wants it to or not.  
  
“I should make you drink it instead of wasting it.” Kael comments, thrusting deeper into Killua. It only takes him a couple more thrusts before he finishes inside of the teen, his voice a guttural moan as his grip on Killua’s neck tightens again.   
  
“We’ll pay you, as our personal whore, you’ll make even more than you’re charging. But you can’t fuck anyone else. You’ll belong to us.” Kael wipes the sweat from his forehead, his cock still buried deep within the exhausted runaway. It’s difficult for Killua to tell if it’s a good offer, his mind feels messy, tangled, but superficially, he can see no problems.  
  
It’s alright to be _owned_ if it’s _better_ , right?  
  
“Fine…” Killua begins. His shoulders shake as he exhales, he is flying as high as he possibly can, he is warm and happy. “Now keep going.”   


* * *

  
  
Killua’s back hits the rough bark of the tree trunk before he slowly begins to slide down to the wet grass. A thick tree roots presses uncomfortably against his thigh, his hand releasing the case of beer as he focuses on getting comfortable. Only an hour or two has passed since he left the hotel room. His wallet feels thicker, his pockets are heavier. For now, Killua has all of his basic needs met: pills and alcohol in surplus.  
The chill of the night air causes the runaway to shiver, his hands briefly tugging the sleeves of his hoodie over his hands as he tries to keep warm. Kael had been kind enough to let him shower before he left, they had much to discuss; Killua is now collared.   
  
However, they had not given him a bad offer. The money they gave him is enough to get him an apartment and a phone, two things he knew he needed quickly. When he was younger, Killua would work enough to have somewhere warm to sleep at night. Sleeping in the bed of stranger or a freak is not nearly as bad as staying in the woods. Although, as Killua became older; he felt the need to secure four walls and a roof. It does not matter to him the state of the place, somewhere to stock his beer and perhaps a few packs of ramen or bread; that is all he needs.   
A soft sigh escapes him as he leans his head back against the tree trunk. A regular shower seems like a luxury in Killua’s mind, something he’d been allotted as a child but could only attain on occasion now.  
  
Brief memories of his childhood flicker in front of his eyes, the teen idly tears open the cardboard 12-pack, pulling out a beer before opening it. Killua does not want to think about the past. He doesn’t want to regret his decision, he doesn’t want to acknowledge what may have been. He had only been twelve when he left, at twelve years old he ran away, at thirteen he let strangers play with his body in exchange for money, at fourteen he began experimenting with drugs. The map of his life is so easy to follow; however, it’s littered with doors chained shut. The things Killua does not want to think about.   
  
The men who laid claim to him with force, the pain he endured by excited, unprepared assailants. The runaway had trained for twelve years, he had been desensitized to all types of violence. However, some violence is difficult to prepare someone for.   
  
Taking a large gulp of his beer, the teen shifts his position again. His ass is still sore from Kael and the other two, but he needs to begin looking for an apartment tomorrow. Even with all the unpleasant thoughts swimming around in his head, the teen feels content knowing he has more than enough warmth to get by. The pills wrap him up more tenderly than his family had ever, they console him far more than any human has. They warm his body, soul, repair his heart and quell his anxious brain. Salvation is a chemical Killua can self-induce, one he has full power over, one he can control before anything or anybody can control him.  
Killua can do anything so long as he’s high. He is unstoppable.  


* * *

 

Days pass, the exhilarating thrill of his salvation guiding him along a steady stream of warmth and happiness. Disgust and guilt fall free from his body, he is happily above it all. He is free, he is safe, he is living. The stains from each customer’s hand to have slid down his body; begin to vanish, a smile spreads across Killua’s face each time he feels the heavy bag of pills in his pocket. If this is a dream; may he never wake up.  
  
In the time between his encounter with Kael and now, Killua has managed to purchase a cell phone and program in the important numbers. A phone is necessary to get an apartment, or so Isaac had told him. The college student/part-time dealer, gave Killua a few hours of his time to help him find a place. This is all new to the runaway, and he is not bright nor shiny as Isaac is.  
_But he’s warm._  
After viewing a few places, signing a few contracts, and giving up more than half of his money; Killua is given a key to his four walls and roof. To his beer fridge, to his bread and ramen storage, to his safe place for getting both drunk and high at once.  
The stars have aligned for the teen, and it is all because he fucked three men. The right men. Regardless of their circumstances, of the title befitting him, this is an opportunity for improvement. Although, he would never have succeeded as an assassin or a hunter, Killua is the best fuck in the city.   
  
Presently, Killua sits on the wooden floor of his apartment. Rather, it is not real wood, but the thin laminate which will peel or bubble with the slightest mistreatment. His apartment is small with off-white walls, one bedroom, a full kitchen, and a bathroom. However, it lacks windows, relying instead on painfully bright circline lights. Isaac had suggested Killua buy lights on a timer, ones which would turn off at night then on again at dawn. The suggestion begins to seem more and more appealing each time Killua checks his phone for the current time.   
  
Inside his new apartment, there is no outside world, only the universe living inside the baggy in his pocket. Though the sounds of pipes and doors slams from overly loud neighbors occasionally shake his focus, he is grateful to have somewhere real to return to. It has taken him years to accomplish this, newfound excitement overshadows any negatives one could perceive with his apartment.  
  
Before him, Killua is working with a grinder and a few large buds of pot. A housewarming gift Isaac had called it, though perhaps it’s because he knows Killua hasn’t touched pot since he was younger. The task is monotonous, almost torture compared to the near-constant stimulation Killua has grown accustomed to. The pills in his pocket call out to him like a daydream, the beer in his fridge cries for attention. He could be so much warmer, he could be drunk and high on two drugs. What would that be like?  
  
Setting the metal grinder down, Killua pushes himself up, wandering into his small kitchen, pulling open the fridge door before retrieving his guilty pleasure. Is drinking a problem? No. Are the pills a problem? No.   
  
For the life Killua lives, the pills and the alcohol are just the fuel to his machine.

A can of beer chills Killua’s hand before he sets it down on the off-white counter. Seconds pass, two, four, eight, Killua opens the beer after ten seconds. Perhaps he is cherishing every second of this moment, notating the simple pleasure of a home that is his and not a client’s. Or perhaps the brief restraint is a testament to his ability to refrain.   
  
In the back of Killua’s mind, he knows he cannot refuse.   
  
The pleasure drains down his throat with each sip he takes. Where one person may stop at one or two sips, Killua takes four. The taste is exactly as he remembers, the smell is comforting, the knowledge of what this simple action will bring; calms him more than pot ever has.   
  
Grabbing a second beer from the fridge, Killua carries both to where the grinder and baggie of pot lay resting on the floor. Sitting down, he turns on some music from his phone before continuing the task.   
  
It is not as monotonous now. It’s a party now.   
  
Killua spends an hour grinding up all of the pot, picking out seeds and stems, examining the gift before carefully rolling it into blunt just as he’d been taught years-and-years ago. Five empty cans of beer rest in a neat line in-front of him, an audience to his actions. To his left, a half-full beer continues to comfort him.   
  
All around him, loud hip-hop music provides a tune for his actions.   
  
Picking up a lighter, Killua lights the blunt carefully. There’s a trick to lighting them, he remembers this much. Although, his brain feels fuzzy, although, he feels as though all responsibility has fallen from his shoulders, Killua does his best to remember what he’d been taught.   
  
A thick cloud of smoke exhales from between his lips. The familiar taste of weed staining his tongue and teeth as the cloud floats towards the ceiling. There is no exit for it, no windows, no vents, though the teen has never heard of someone hot boxing their apartment, he assumes he’s not the first. Not in this place at least.   
  
Leaning back on one hand, Killua stares up at his ceiling as he takes another slow hit. He’d noticed tiny cuts on the bathroom counter earlier today. The long, intentional rows, the closeness of them, Killua can’t help wondering if the previous tenant maybe hid some dust around here.   
  
Warmth encompasses his being as he drifts into his thoughts. Relaxation melts his joints, his muscles, no longer does he have to find refuge between some bushes in the park. Killua is not certain he will ever recover from the excitement of owning his own place.   
  
Just as a smile begins to creep across the teen’s face, his music fades away, replaced by the obnoxious ringing of his phone. Though, the fact that he even has a phone to have ring is amazing.   
  
Glancing at the name flashing across the screen, he allows the smile to finish crossing his lips before he answers.   
  
“Yo, it’s the d-boy.” Killua lets out a short, quiet laugh, one interrupted by unexpected coughs.   
  
“Yo. Where you at?” Isaac’s voice reaches Killua’s ears as he takes another hit off the blunt, his eyes raking over the length of it as he tries to decide how much longer it’ll last him. He hadn’t rolled it particularly fat, though he also didn’t think he needed too much.   
  
“I’m at home taking advantage of your house-warming gift.” The teen exhales the thick smoke, pulling an empty beer can closer.   
  
“Kael wants to go out tonight. You should come, it’s better than sitting at home.” In the background, Killua can hear the sounds of traffic, Isaac must be on his way already.   
  
“Go out where?” Killua considers adding that he’s been drinking, though he decides against it at the last moment. Pressing the phone to his ear with his shoulder, he takes another drink of his beer. After all of these years, Killua had forgotten just how dry pot left his mouth.   
  
“There’s a hangout spot nearby. A clearing in the woods the high schoolers used to use. We remodeled it.” On the other end of the line, Killua can hear the bird chip recording of a walk signal.   
  
“Are you on your way here?” He finds himself asking.   
  
“Yeah, a block away.” Isaac snickers as if he’d expected Killua to figure it out.   
  
“The hang out spot sounds really lame. Is that really where everyone is going?” As the words leave Killua’s lips, a brief moment of surprise overtakes him. Although he doesn’t want to get his hopes up, although he doesn’t want to regain any desire for normalcy like this, he finds himself happy to have people looking for his company.   
  
~~Even if his family stopped looking for him already.~~  
  
“It’s pretty cool. I’m bringing a special stock too. You know I let you sample for free.” Isaac laughs again.  
  
“Fine, I guess. But you have to help me carry the beer.”

**Author's Note:**

> Ok, so here's the deal. I have a really busy life so I wrote 3 chapters of this before releasing this chapter. I'm going to try to post one new chapter each week, but I can't make surefire promises since my job comes before anything fun/relaxing. 
> 
> However!! I'm really excited about this story, I've been playing with this thought for months now, but it just suddenly hit me one day about how it should go. So I have the whole story outlined! I'm writing the fourth chapter right now. :D  
> Feel free to hit me up on Tumbr @ContrivedCircus or leave a comment.


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